Page 43 of Girl Anonymous

“In my judgment, that was possible, but seemed risky for a woman so desperate to end my father’s life.”

“To save mine,” she reminded him quickly.

“To save yours,” he agreed as if that truth had no meaning to him. “It was suggested and most agreed that she ingested the explosive, knowing or gambling on the fact that the Arundel security didn’t include an X-ray of that kind.”

“I don’t remember what Mama did for preparation, but—”

He slashed his hand like a karate chop.

She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

He continued, “It was suggested that once she had the explosives in place, at the moment of my father’s threat, she used her abdominal muscles to detonate the bomb.”

She didn’t make the mistake of trying to interrupt his monologue again.

“On that fateful day when I saw you in my mother’s library, and identified you as the Daire child, my memories blasted me, unfaded by the passage of time. I knew they were there, waitingfor me, but the events which unfolded left me with no time to explore them.”

The explosion, he meant. His mother’s death. The hospital. Her collapse in his bed. Then—

He said, “Then we fucked.”

In the past, she’d thought he used the word because he inhabited a realm where men ruled by intimidation. Now she thought—for you, it’s just a verb…and you’ve never made love in your entire life.

So yes, they had fucked.

“Afterward, I was exhausted, exalted, and while I watched you sleep, I recalled each second of that day in my father’s throne room in real time. The scene, the people, the moments are etched in my mind.” In a sudden motion that shocked and frightened her, he flung the pen toward the kitchen—and it stuck in the Sheetrock wall exactly beside Tabitha’s protruding head.

Tabitha froze, her blue eyes so fixed and wide her mascara scraped her hairline.

Maarja swallowed. It had to be a pen with a blade. No way he could do that normally. But still…impressive aim and scary as all hell.

Tabitha retreated into the kitchen.

Maarja heard a hard thump, and a retching sound. She understood both reactions.

Dante continued his monologue without taking note of Tabitha’s reaction, or Maarja’s, or even that his pen had penetrated exactly where he intended. “Your mother didn’t detonate the bomb.”

She’d spent her life anticipating this moment. Fearing this moment. “No.”

“Someone else in that room did.”

“Yes.” Oh, God, yes.

“Your mother had a conspirator.”

“Yes, she did.”

“And that conspirator survived.”

Her mouth was so dry she could barely croak out the answer. “Yes.”

“It can be only one person.”

Every muscle in her body clenched.

“Andere.”

She almost collapsed where she stood.“What?”

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